


The (Attempted) Shooting of Dan McGrew

by TottyTottyTotty



Category: Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Comedy, Country & Western, Fist Fights, Gambling, Gun Violence, Hypnotism, M/M, Unrequited Love, Video Game Character Death, artificial reality, video game violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28856922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TottyTottyTotty/pseuds/TottyTottyTotty
Summary: Rimmer invites Lister to Streets of Laredo for poker night, but things can never go smoothly for him.This is a SFW version of chapter 6 (second half) of my explicit fic, Alone Together.
Relationships: Dave Lister/Arnold Rimmer
Kudos: 2





	The (Attempted) Shooting of Dan McGrew

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Alone Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27871254) by [TottyTottyTotty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TottyTottyTotty/pseuds/TottyTottyTotty). 



> Just a reminder...  
> This IS a SPOILER for chapter 6 of Alone Together. Do not read this if you want to read Alone Together.

“This is smegging  _ boring.” _ Lister said, tinkering with a nondescript piece of communications equipment. “It’s supposed to be poker night.”

“Got a new set of marked cards you're itching to try out?” Rimmer quipped, not looking up. He was doing his best to focus on a book of historical campaigns, but generally found himself just skimming the illustrations. 

They'd been taking shifts in the cockpit as they passed through a long stretch of dangerous GELF space, making it impossible to get together all four crewmembers for any kind of game night. Cat was on duty, curled up in the pilot’s seat with his manicure set, and Kryten was fussing about in the kitchen, leaving the two men to making the least of their freetime in the midsection. 

Lister threw down his screwdriver and rolled his eyes. “Smeg this. I’ll be in the AR machine.” 

Rimmer grimaced, ramping up a rude remark. Instead an idea came to mind, giving him pause. 

Rimmer hadn't touched the Starbug AR machine before the Armageddon Virus. They made him uneasy, TIVs. He didn't have the best track record with them. So, he dismissed it as childish. There were more exciting things to do, like log books, inventory, and making sure all chairs onboard were set to the exact regulation height of 48cm. With vital duties like that, silly games were a waste of his time.

But,  _ Lister  _ liked AR.

“Ah, hold a tick, Lister.” Rimmer set down the heavy tome timidly. “If it’s poker night you’re after, we could pick up a game in Streets of Laredo?”

Rimmer liked Laredo. He liked the long duster and how he felt powerful and confident. He liked doing the voice. He liked the way Brett looked in dark black leather, head to toe. It was mostly the last part he had in mind. 

Lister, already halfway up the metal staircase, pivoted and examined the hologram. A tight ache gripped Rimmer in the chest, suddenly uncertain. Putting all his effort into keeping a straight, disinterested face, he screamed silently to himself that he shouldn’t have seemed so keen.

Rimmer didn't really understand how he felt about Lister. He knew he hated his grotty attire with the smell that would make a buzzard blush, his joyful insolence delivered with a cretinous grin, his irrepressible lack of proper work ethic, the way he always senselessly barreled into ludicrous situations to risk his spuds for some misguided sense of ethics, and his lack of a sensible haircut. Rimmer also knew his heart ached every time the scouser walked in. This was usually quickly cured by the smell of toxic morning breath, or dribbles of curried chicken tumbling down the front of the crusty boilersuit, or when Lister took a moment to pluck his nostrils rather extra thoroughly. A minor inconvenience at worst. But troubling.

“Yeah, alright.” Lister shrugged. “Alright, could do with a drink too. Krytes, d’you want to come?” 

The mechanoid chuckled appreciatively from the doorway, “No thank you, Mr. Lister, sir. All a bit too  _ frivolous _ for me. Besides, that vindaloo you spilled while inventing ‘slap boxing’ with Mr. Cat is deeply embedded in the grout and I just  _ can't _ tear myself away from a good deck scrubbing."

In the AR room, Rimmer helped himself to the Dangerous Dan McGrew character again, feeling a bit sentimental. He felt a happy tingle in his stomach to see Lister went for Brett Riverboat again.

They rode into Laredo, each astride a steed that they didn't know how to control, yet which perfectly bent to their wishes anyway. The evening sun lay low on the horizon and the area seemed calm, quiet. It must have been autumn in the sleepy border town as the wind managed to carry a slight chill across the rugged landscape.

Arriving at the Malamute saloon, they didn't bother to hitch the obedient geldings, leaving them loitering contentedly by the porch. Rimmer enjoyed the dramatic swish of his long coat as he dismounted and immediately adopted an affected swagger. 

As they stepped out into the dusty street, Rimmer noticed a young man sprawled in the dirt. His clothes were crisp but stained from his fall, as was his shaven face. A drunkard, the hologram surmised, he'd had too much and couldn't drag himself home before blacking out. He wasn't moving and none of the passersby seemed to pay him any mind, but he'd been wrapped in a white linen someone had been thoughtful enough to provide. Sparing only a momentary sneer, Rimmer moved on.

"I see by your outfit, that you are a cowboy." The young man croaked weakly.

Rimmer started, not expecting the boozer to be conscious. Checking his surroundings to be certain, he accepted the comment was directed at him.

"Ahhh, no… insurance salesman." He said dismissively. "I get that all the time though. Must be the hat."

"Come, sit down beside me and hear my sad story." The man said pitifully, reaching out. As he shifted, Rimmer noticed crimson red staining the loosely wrapped linen. "For I'm shot in the chest, and today I must die."

_ "Oh damn,  _ not able to fit this one in! Busy schedule after all. But it sounds lovely, so rain check?" He smiled but didn't wait for a response. "Marvellous."

Rimmer hustled to catch up to Lister, who was already pushing through the swing doors. The saloon was dark and dingy, lit by lamplight along the wooden walls. It was small, but well-packed, several tables occupied by various ruffians, degenerates, and one femme fatal appearing extremely out of place. A ratty looking kid was banging out a stereotypical jag-time tune on the piano. Most of the patrons ignored them, but a few aggressive eyes rose at their entrance and didn't fall.

"Evenin' ma'am" Lister said smoothly, tipping his hat at the woman behind the bar. Her's had been one of the sets of eyes unapologetically locked onto the two strangers. 

"What's your poison, sweetheart?" She asked flatly, clearly not thrilled to see them. She was pleasantly plump and rosy-faced, but her voice was gruff with years of smoking and the thick hands that gripped the bartop were calloused with hard pioneer living.

Lister grinned over his shoulder at Rimmer, "Whiskey, neat?"

"God, no." Rimmer said warily. "Don't they have  _ anything _ else in this worthless century?"

The bartender spit on the floor casually. "Got a homebrew ale. Tastes like the devil, but that purge is guaranteed to get a bear swacked.”

"Two." Lister placed a couple coins on the bar. The woman slid them into her apron pocket and proceeded to wipe out a couple of grimy mugs. 

Sidling up to the bar, Lister scanned the room. Nudging Rimmer, he murmured in a low voice, "Looks like a table in the back with our names on it." 

Three men sat near the wall, dealing out a card game. They looked gruff and unneighborly and, upon closer inspection, were recognizable characters that had been lifted into Kryten’s dream. The out-of-place woman in her red and black frills stood hovering and whispering encouragement in the ear of Jimmy while his brutish friends laughed and smoked. Rimmer, feeling emboldened by his special powers, gave Lister a raised eyebrow in agreement. 

The bartender slid the beers between their elbows with an inelegant snort. 

"Hey," She said, wagging a finger at the two, "Y'all look like you're mighty quick with a shootin' iron. Sheriff's been looking for a posse to clear bandits out of-"

"Not interested." Rimmer interjected briskly, grabbing his drink and turning away before he could get roped in further.

"Ah, not tonight, ma'am." Lister said sheepishly, trying to placate the now scowling NPC. He slid another coin in her direction.

Rimmer sniffed and cracked his neck as he approached the gruff card players with bravado. He strode up, sat down, and slapped a stack of cash in the pot.

“Deal us in.” He grunted in his best man-with-no-name voice.

The men stared, surprised silent by the audacity. Lister rubbed his eye and readied a hand over his knife. 

Leaning closer, the burliest man said calmly, “Put in another five, and I won’t shoot you where you sit.” He was near as wide as he was tall and stunk like a barn. A nasty grin revealed a shining silver tooth.

His hot breath hitting Rimmer’s nose was enough to intimidate the hologram into regret.

“Beg pardon, chaps.” He scooted back from the table with an ingratiating smile. “I can see now this is a private get together, I’ll see myself out.”

“Now, Nuke, don’t be so impolite.” Jimmy waved a hand in their direction, clearly not bothered. He was cool and collected in a way the others weren’t as he set his cigar down to speak. Nuke seemed to defer to him, settling himself back. 

“If these  _ fancy boys  _ want to get taken for all they’re worth, far be it from us to not be accommodatin’.” He gestured toward Lister. “Sit. Name’s Jimmy. This here’s Nuke, Frank, and my light-o'-love, Lou.”

The pretty brunette smiled with condescension, sizing them up. Her dress was flashy by the standards of the room, as was the hat with one enormous feather pinned to her bouffant.

Lister seemed satisfied with this, introducing himself as Brett, so Rimmer adjusted himself to try and regain the bold posture. He just had to remember he was  _ Dangerous  _ Dan McGrew. He was a rough-necked, take-no-shit hombre. No one stood a chance against his fists if it came to it.

The group seemed to warm to them quickly, especially after they bought a round and managed to lose a few hands of hold ‘em while betting high. Rimmer and Lister learned a few new expletives too from winning. The AR sprites weren't great conversationalists, steering the subject back to side quests more often than not, but their AI was damn good at poker.

“You cowpoke?” Frank sniffed, pushing his call into the pot. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked like he hadn’t had anything but whiskey in his belly for days. His comical little mustache twitched when he bluffed. “Ain’t no cattle work here, so if you’re lookin’, you best keep movin’.”

Nuke hopped in with an angry huff, folding. “Half the town’s in the gutter with that oil tycoon driving the ranchers off ‘a their land. Good folk too. Someone ought to settle his hash.”

“How terrible.” Rimmer said, flippant. He had two aces and wasn’t interested in much else. “Raise.” 

Behind them, a weather-worn miner stumbled in the door with a loud clatter. He was obviously already loaded, his buckskin dog-dirty and walking as if he was half dead. The crowd of drinkers glanced up in contempt but chose to ignore him.

Jimmy eyeballed Rimmer, looking for a tell. “Mighty good pay comin’ to whoever brings down the tycoon.” He said, calling the raise.

Lister was expressionless, the perfect poker face. He studied the others hard before folding and pulling out a knife to clean his fingernails. “We’re just passing through.” 

Frank grumbled and folded. "Dag nab it, dern it, and gol darn it." He begrudgingly dealt the river card. 

At the bar there was a commotion, the miner having dumped a bag of something in front of the plump lady. They couldn’t quite catch what was going on, but then the bearded beast turned around and bellowed, “Drinks for the house!”

A cheer and a whoop went up among the townsfolk as the bartender began to hurriedly distribute beers to the crowd. Rimmer found one shoved into his hands by someone who passed by too quickly to acknowledge. It was the same swill as before. 

“‘eh, who’s this Johnny?”

Looking at Lister he saw the scouser had moved on to picking his teeth with the knife.

“Don’t know.” Rimmer wrinkled his nose. “But he’s more bladdered than a wino on yellow sticker chardonnay.”

Interestingly enough, the miner took no drink himself, looking dreary and despondent. Seeing the rag-time kid was away from his stool, the man merely lumbered over to the piano, flopping down clumsily. He swayed so much Rimmer thought he might topple over, but he righted himself and began to play.

_ “Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was awful clear…” _

Godawful racket. Rimmer sighed with annoyance, concerned that his good hand was going to waste in the clamor, and tried to resume the game. 

Jimmy sat unswayed in the corner, keeping a hawk-eye on the hologram. 

The river card had been an ace. Full house. Rimmer had a hard time squeezing his excitement down. Noticing his hand was shaking, he quickly stored it in his lap where his right leg also jiggled.

“All in.” He said, channeling McGrew, with as straight a face as he could muster. He shoved the rest of his stack of cash to the middle.

Jimmy narrowed his eyes but didn’t stir. 

“Don’t tell me you’re yella’?” Rimmer said, leaning over the table. He felt invincible. Lister snorted, trying to repress a laugh. Jimmy didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting, only silently pushing his own stack in. 

Rimmer could barely contain himself with the smug glory. He flipped over his pocket aces with all the enthusiasm of a puppy discovering it can lick its own testicles for the first time.

When Jimmy placed a paired 2 and 4 on the table, the hologram couldn’t help but grin in joy.

“A  _ 2 and a 4?? _ What kind of gimboid plays a hand like that??” He snickered. 

Lou, watching their luck intently, hadn’t said a word all night, but at this comment she giggled. “You might look closer, partner.”

“It’s a straight flush, _ Dan.”  _ Lister said softly, struggling to keep from busting out in giggles himself. “He caught it on the flop.”

Rimmer’s face dropped. _ “Ah.” _ He went stiff, repressing the welling rage in his stomach. “Those spades and clubs…” He said through his teeth, “Look so similar. Easy to miss.”

The three men rumbled with chuckles, Jimmy sweeping the pot to himself.

“Tough break, greenhorn. Better luck next time.”

Rimmer had never heard the word before, but it wasn’t a compliment.

“Yes, well, you cheat, I’m happy for you.” he spat, losing his patience. “Maybe now you can finally afford to treat your clinical case of knob face.“

Chairs were tossed aside and the men were on their feet, hands at their holsters. The saloon went dead silent, all heads turned towards the excitement. The filthy miner abruptly ended his playing and stood to get a better view. 

Jimmy glared, his voice now deep and threatening. “Son, you’re just gettin’ through life on a lick and a promise ain't you? You don’t seem to see the danger you’re in.”

Rimmer fixed him with a cold stare. “Danger is my middle name.” He paused. “...Actually my first name. Actually, it’s ‘Dangerous,’ but you get the picture.”

Everyone was still, save the miner who strode slowly across the room, seemingly oblivious to the heavy tension that hung in the air. He stepped between the two, clearing his throat. Only then, standing straight, was it evident he was a head taller than anyone else there, towering over them with a frigid, imposing presence. Nervously, the men side-eyed the beast.

At last, the man grinned and said calmly, "Boys, you don't know me, and none of you care a damn. But one of you is a hound of hell . . .” His crazed eyes settled on Rimmer. “...and that one is Dan McGrew."

“Smeg.” Rimmer grimaced. 

Lister rolled his eyes, shooting his companion a nasty look. “Some smegging poker night Rimmer, cheers.”

“I have a bone to pick,” The miner moved closer in to the hologram, his stench drifting over them. “With the man who touched my sweetheart, Lou.”

The brunette pipped up belligerently, “I ain’t done nothin’ with no Dan McGrew.” She could have sounded a titch less disgusted. 

Rimmer gawped, entering peak angry falsetto mode. “I don’t even know her. Or you, for that matter, miladdo. He’s the one over there she’s been hanging off of all night.” He pointed accusatorily at Jimmy.

“Nice try, McGrew.” The miner grumbled. He moved his gaze down to the full mug on the edge of the table. “You ain't touched your beer. Man buys you a beer, you best drink it.”

“Not thirsty.”

“Shame. Man ought to have a drink before he dies.”

Lister reluctantly decided to take pity on the idiots and step in, throwing his shoulders back. He took a moment to study the great, hairy face, composed and unperturbed. They stared each other down, taking stock of their opponent’s intestinal fortitude. 

“You look like a reasonable man.” The scouser finally growled. “McGrew didn’t touch your sweetie. He’s with me. Why don’t we part ways before someone makes a  _ real  _ mistake.”

The miner considered this carefully. Slowly, he replied, "Then he done us both wrong, partner.” He moved closer to Lister, pulling his revolver free from the holster. “You ready to die for that kinda buzzard?"

Rage boiled up in Rimmer, his fist twitching and his nostrils flared. A twinge of something went off in his chest.

“Oh piss off, will you?” He pushed forward, landing a sucker punch on the miner’s left jaw. A few exclamations of shock came out of the onlookers.

The bear of a man staggered back. When he’d collected his senses, he raised his gun but was cut short by a blow to his gut followed by a well-placed uppercut. He fell hard against the wooden floor, scattering the patrons behind him.

Surveying his work, the hologram looked terribly pleased with himself.

_ “Yeah!”  _ Lister laughed, “There’s the ‘bare fist fighter extraordinaire!’” He pushed on Rimmer’s shoulder gleefully. “I've seen you start fights, but I've never seen you finish one.”

“I think you’re forgettin’ something.” Jimmy snarled. His six-shooter was trained on Rimmer’s heart, along with Frank and Nuke. “First you call me a cheat. Now I hear you been gettin’ around with Lou. We don't like bastards like you in town, do we boys?” The cronies grumbled their agreement.

“You’re kidding?” Rimmer scoffed. “Even if it were true, it’s all a bit  _ sexist, _ coming after me, don’t you think?”

A shot rang out, bullet whizzing by Rimmer’s ear. In a blind panic, he groped for Lister who pulled him behind a table, upturning it while more shots plinked into the wall beyond them. The patrons were clearing out of the saloon fast, shouting over the chaos.

Rimmer hyperventilated, looking around for an escape route. Fists were all well and good until you brought them to a gunfight. Lister shook him in reassurance. “'Ey, Brett Riverboat’s got this one.” He said, producing knives from God-knows-where. He dove out from cover, launching them forward all at once.

One, two, three, his knives knocked the guns out of the men’s hands. Just to add insult, Lister aimed three more, sending each man’s hat flying away in turn. Humiliated, they froze, unsure of what to do next.

An unexpected gunshot caught Rimmer by surprise, not from Jimmy and his gang but from the back corner. They turned just in time to see the mysterious miner, gun drawn, clutching at his chest. Shock etched on his face, he lurched forward, falling again and for the last time. Behind him, holding a neat little Smith & Wesson still smoking at the tip, was the lady known as Lou. She cocked the gun again and fixed it on Jimmy.

“This ain’t over.” Jimmy spat, shaking with fury. The three hotfooted it out of the saloon, making a hasty getaway. 

"Gentlemen." Rimmer nodded to them politely on the way out. 

Lowering her weapon, Lou rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. She didn't look like a woman who had just shot her lover. She looked like someone who'd just stepped on a spider. "They’re gonna be back with more men. Y’all better skedaddle.” 

Peering out the front window, Rimmer spotted the gang collecting a group of men on the far side of the street. They were shouting and pointing. "Too late. We've got company coming fast."

Lister swung around, looking for the bartender. She was wiping up behind the counter, completely unbothered. 

“You rentin’ rooms, ma’am?”

"Depends." She grunted. 

"Erm, for the mess." Lister shoved a fistful of dollars at her. 

She glared with disdain at the money but it did the trick. "Upstairs, first left." 

"Much obliged." He thanked her. He paused then passed another bill over. "And for a bottle." Snagging an abandoned fifth of whiskey, he followed Rimmer's urgent goading towards the stairway. 

On their way up, glancing back, they spotted Lou clutching the miner to her breast. The woman's dainty hands were pulling the gold out of his pockets and storing it in her own.

The lodging was cramped but cosy. Dark wood walls and furniture lined the narrow room and various kitschy paintings of roosters and cornflowers and the like hung on the walls. 

"Unbelievable." Rimmer groused locking the rickety door. "Unbe-smegging-lievable."

"It's fine, man, it's just a game." Lister said. He flopped onto the austere bed, and took a pull of the bourbon. The straw mattress was barely wide enough for one and was covered in a knit blanket in red that the scouser fiddled with between his thumb and forefinger.

"It was meant to be poker night." The hologram took a peek out the lone window overlooking Laredo. Angry men were piling in the front doorway, looking for a fight. "That great lummox had to go and cock up a perfectly nice evening.”

“Yeah, things were going so well before. I think they were about to invite us ‘round for tea.”

“I had it handled.” Rimmer pulled the curtain and sat miserably on the window sill. “Now what? Do we just exit? Not sure I fancy a full blown shootout.”

“What, and go back to being sober?” Lister swigged again straight from the bottle. “I came here to get bevvied up and play poker, might as well do one.” He tossed his hat aside, getting comfortable, unconcerned where it landed.

Rimmer huffed. He peeled back the corner of the curtain again to see if he could catch sight of anyone. When nothing happened, he slid his gaze back over to his bunkmate. 

The scouser was sprawled haphazardly, knee up and head back. If Rimmer was honest, he really wished Lister would have admitted his feelings first and spared him the trouble. He just wasn't so good at these sorts of things. 

He pulled the heavy duster off, letting it rest on the back of a chair. 

There was one thing he was good at that he could think of. Okay at, anyway. He could try that.

Concentrating on Lister's pupils, Rimmer squared himself up, gazing intently. He let his eyes go wide and pursed his lips into a tight line. It was only a few seconds in before the scouser turned and looked back with a severely off-put frown.

Stricken, Rimmer broke eye contact, swiveling his head as casually as he could fake, trying to hide the embarrassment.

"Did you just try to hypnotise me?" Lister's brow went up. 

"No, of course not."

"That was the smegging mesmer stare."

Rimmer laughed uncomfortably. "No it wasn't."

"Yes it very well smegging was!" Lister sat up on his elbow to get a better look at the hologram. “Rimmer, your mesmer stare makes you look like a serial killer. It’s hard to miss.”

“I told you, it wasn’t that.” Rimmer’s voice went up an octave. He could feel his cheeks getting hotter and his heart was tight and achy. He was mostly not in the mood to be made fun of.

Rimmer looked out the window again anxiously, pretending to put all of his attention on the important task.

He heard the creak as Lister rolled off of the bed. All of Rimmer’s energy went to holding still. His stomach was a flurry of butterflies and his focus began to waver. He remembered he had a point to make, but couldn’t quite remember what that was.

"Rimmer. Was this meant to be a date?"

Every muscle in Rimmer's body tensed into a hard knot.

"Rimmer, did you ask me on a date?" Lister asked again, more insistently. 

"This is not a date." Rimmer grumbled. 

"You have done!"

"This is not a date!"

"Oh god  _ this is  _ a date." Lister rubbed his forehead hard.

"This is not a date!"

"I'm not your girlfriend Rimmer!"

"I'm telling you, Lister, this is not a date!!"

_ "Oh God, I just went on a date with smegging Rimmer."  _ Lister covered his eyes with a groan.

Mouth opening and closing stupidly, Rimmer tried to work up an excuse, some way to shift the blame. In the end all that came out was, "Okay well… it wasn't  _ meant _ to be a date…"

"That's for goddamn sure."

This made Rimmer bristle. "Don’t look at me! You're the one who said I'm 'with' you. News to me!"

"… this is getting weird. You made it weird."

"How did I make it  _ weird? _ Name one thing!"

"This."

"Okay, name another."

"Rimmer, I will list them all in alphabetical order and have it notarized if it'll get you to shut up."

There was a loud crash at the door, making them jump, and then another as it came swinging open. The men at the door opened fire, raining bullets through the room.

"Smeg!" Lister cursed, clapping. Rimmer soon followed. Shaken, the two silently removed their headsets and gloves, appetite for further discussion lost.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by the poem “The Shooting of Dan McGrew” (with some obvious changes) and there’s a reference as well to the song, “Streets of Laredo.” I also drew some flavor from old Clint Eastwood films and Westerado, which is an exceptionally amazing game if you haven’t played before.
> 
> Special thanks to the great people on the Discord for always fielding my weird questions and always being so kind and inspiring.
> 
> I super welcome constructive feedback! Please let me know if you see any typos or unintentional Americanisms.


End file.
